After Blake had calmed down somewhat, Eland walked to one of the wall units and pressed his palm against a panel. The unit hummed to life, and a drawer slid out with a soft hiss. He retrieved two metallic pouches and placed them on a heating pad.
"Not quite home cooking, but it'll do," Eland said.
The pouches expanded as they heated, filling the air with an aroma that reminded Blake of roasted vegetables and herbs. When Eland opened them, steam carried the scent of something like saffron.
Blake peered into his bowl, studying the unfamiliar meal with a soldier's MRE-tempered caution. The contents looked like purple rice mixed with chunks of what could have been meat, though the color was off—more blue than red, with subtle iridescent streaks catching the light.
He took a careful bite, letting the flavors settle on his tongue before committing to a full mouthful. The texture yielded between his teeth, tender and satisfying. Flavors danced across his tongue - beef, almost, but shifted sideways, like goat wearing a cow costume.
The grin of delight stretched across Eland's alien features as Blake took another bite. The archaeologist's nostril slits flared slightly, catching the lingering aroma from the dish between them.
"Better than you were expecting then?"
"Eland," Blake smiled back, the complex blend of spices coating his tongue. "If you had ever had to eat the pre-packaged war crime the military dared to call a 'Veggie Omelet,' you'd know better than to even ask." The dreaded beige packages surfaced in his mind—soldiers bargaining, begging, doing anything to avoid that particular MRE. "This? This is wonderful."
After swallowing another bite, he continued.
"The flavors remind me of a dish I had years ago," Blake said, savoring another spoonful. "This old Afghani woman—must have been ninety if she was a day—she'd made this incredible pilaf with lamb. 'Qabeli palaw', it was called. I swore I'd learn to make it myself one day. Never quite got around to it."
"Maybe now you'll have time. I think that good food is universal," Eland said. He adjusted his position on the bench, his massive frame making the furniture look almost comically small. "Though I must admit, after all these years of travel, I still miss my mother's cooking."
Blake nodded, recognizing a universal truth in those words. Nostalgia was a powerful thing. "What was her specialty?"
"A fermented root dish. Sounds terrible, I know, but the process created such delightfully complex flavors." Eland's eyes took on a distant look. "Three months to prepare properly. She'd start it at the beginning of our cold season."
"Sounds like sauerkraut. German dish, fermented cabbage." Blake scraped the last bits from his bowl. "Though three months is ambitious. Most folks I knew would get impatient after three weeks."
Blake pushed his empty bowl away, a contented sigh escaping his lips. The strange alien meal had been surprisingly satisfying. The flavors lingered on his tongue, a pleasant spiced warmth. He watched as Eland gathered the empty pouches, a thoughtful expression on his face.
“So,” Blake began, leaning back against the wall, “about this ‘System’ you mentioned.” The alien word had sparked a cascade of indecipherable symbols on his HUD, a tantalizing glimpse of something vast and unknown.
Eland turned, his large, dark eyes meeting Blake’s. “Yes,” he said, his voice now smooth and resonant, the earlier guttural tones almost entirely gone. “Where to begin?” He paused, tapping a finger against his chin. “I suppose the most shocking revelation would be that you, Blake Connover, are not unique.”
Blake frowned, a flicker of irritation sparking in his chest. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” Eland said with a gentle smile, “that you aren’t the first human I’ve met. Not by a long shot.” He gestured to the tablet still resting on the table. Images flashed across the screen, a dizzying array of humanoid figures. Some were tall and slender, others short and stocky. Their skin tones ranged from pale white to deep ebony, their features reflecting a vast spectrum of ethnicities. And yet, underlying it all, there was an undeniable common thread. They were all human.
“There are trillions of humans, Blake,” Eland continued, his voice soft. “Scattered across known space. In nearly every faction, every corner of the explored galaxy. You are one of the most common humanoid races in existence.”
Blake stared at the images, his mind reeling. Trillions. The word echoed in his head, bouncing off the walls of his understanding. His entire world view, already fractured by the events of the past day, shattered completely. Everything he had thought he knew about his place in the universe was wrong.
The weight of this revelation settled over Blake like a crushing force. Blake let out a slow breath. Part of him wanted to argue with the alien again. This couldn't be real, a fragment of some delirium triggered by stress and injury. Yet, Eland's words held a ring of truth. His calm demeanor didn't invite defensiveness but instead, curiosity.
His hands raised to his temples, rubbing firmly as if pressure would massage the alien truth into his head.
“Okay.” Blake swallowed roughly. “Right, okay, trillions of humans. Across the galaxy. In different… factions?”
Eland nodded. "Think of them as… interstellar nations, or perhaps powerful corporations with vast holdings. Each with their own territories, their own cultures, their own agendas.” He tapped the tablet again, displaying a complex map filled with swirling nebulae and bright star clusters. Lines crisscrossed the image, dividing the galaxy into territories marked by different colors and symbols. “The political landscape is… fluid. Alliances shift, wars erupt, treaties are broken. It's a complex web, and humans are woven throughout.”
Blake stared at the map, the scale of it mind-boggling. “So, where do I fit in all this?” He felt adrift. Nothing about this conversation made him feel oriented, only smaller and more out of his depth.
“For now,” Eland said, “you fit in right here. With me.” He gestured towards a small, spartan cabin on one side of the tilted room. “You can rest, recover. And maybe, if you're willing, you can help me salvage the parts I need to get this ship back off the ground.”
Blake considered this. His body ached, his mind still buzzing with the shock of the day's revelations. Rest sounded like a good idea. A very good idea. But he burned with curiosity.
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"I just have so many questions…"
Eland stepped gingerly over to Blake, placing a large 3-fingered hand on his shoulder. "I understand. And fortunately, we have time to catch you up."
"Due to the unfortunate state of the ship?" Blake asked jokingly.
"Precisely," Eland said, smiling. "But I'm serious, you should try and take a short nap. Let the nanites settle in, get some energy back—the entire activation process likely took more out of you than you were aware. I'm willing to bet that if you let yourself slow down for a minute you'll realize—"
"Yeah," Blake interjected, really examining his physical state. "You're right, I'm… I'm wiped. If you've got a bunk I can crash in for a few hours, I'd gladly repay you with some help salvaging once I'm up again."
Eland straightened, still smiling. "There are two unused cabins on the ship, I'll show you the way and you can take your pick."
----------------------------------------
Blake woke from a deep two-hour slumber in one of the ship's empty cabins, his pistol within arm's reach on a nearby shelf. The rest had hit him harder than expected—his body had crashed as if he'd run a morning marathon.
True to his word, Eland spent the next hour talking with Blake, answering questions no matter how potentially stupid they were. He ended up sharing details about his species and their history, as Blake deliberately steered clear of certain topics.
Two topics particularly avoided were Earth's isolation from galactic civilization and Eland's cryptic mentions of magic. The alien's repeated references to "Cultivators" and "Cultivating" sparked his curiosity, but Blake kept his questions in check. His mind already teetered on the edge of being overwhelmed with the day's revelations.
Eventually, the pair agreed it was time to venture out and begin salvaging parts from the surrounding scrapyard.
"So, if you're going to be useful for salvaging, you'll need some slight tweaking to your HUD," Eland said, his large eyes narrowing in concentration as he fiddled with his tablet.
Blake rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the residual tension of his awkward sleep still clinging to his muscles. "What kind of tweaking are we talking about?"
Eland didn't look up, his fingers dancing across the tablet's surface with practiced ease. "I'll upload a series of image-recognition macros. They'll pull from a vast database of machine parts to help highlight and identify anything valuable for repairing the ship."
Blake raised an eyebrow. "Macros? Databases? You sure this isn't going to fry my brain?"
Eland chuckled, a low rumbling sound that vibrated the air. "No, no brain frying, I promise. Just a little more information processing. You'll be able to see what's useful and what's not without having to guess."
Blake leaned back against the wall, his arms crossed. "Guessing wasn't really my strong suit anyway."
Eland paused, his eyes meeting Blake's. "I do wish you had a basic [Identify] skill, but…"
"Identify?" Blake asked, frowning. "What does that mean?"
Eland sighed, his gaze shifting back to the tablet. "You were pretty obviously avoiding certain topics when we were talking earlier. This is one of those. When you're ready to really dive into the System, I'll explain."
Blake nodded, his curiosity piqued but not enough to overwhelm his immediate need for practical information. "Alright, do your thing."
Eland stepped closer, the tablet still in his hands. "This might feel a bit confusing at first. Just try to relax."
Blake took a deep breath, his fingers tightening around the edge of the table. He felt a strange tingling sensation spread from where Eland's hand brushed his arm. The sensation intensified, spreading up his neck and into his skull, like static electricity building up inside his head.
The HUD flickered, the familiar interface warping and twisting as new information flooded in. Symbols and numbers flashed across his vision, too fast to make sense of. His heart pounded, the sudden influx of data overwhelming his senses. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the sensory overload.
"Focus, Blake," Eland's voice cut through the chaos, calm and steady. "Breathe. The nanites are just integrating the new macros."
Blake forced himself to take slow, deep breaths. Gradually, the storm of information began to settle. The symbols resolved themselves into coherent patterns, the numbers aligning into readable formats. He opened his eyes, blinking against the residual haze.
His HUD had changed. New icons dotted his vision, each one representing a different category of items. A small, blinking square hovered over a pile of twisted metal in the corner of the room. Blake focused on it, and a stream of text appeared, identifying the pieces as parts of a broken propulsion system.
"Holy shit," Blake muttered, amazed at the clarity and precision of the information. He shifted his gaze, testing the new functionality. Each object he looked at was highlighted, its details displayed in crisp, readable text.
"Impressive, isn't it?" Eland said, a note of pride in his voice. "You'll find it particularly useful out there in the scrapyard. There's a lot of junk, but also a lot of valuable parts if you know where to look."
Blake nodded, still absorbing the new capabilities of his HUD. "Yeah, this is... something else. Thanks, Eland."
Eland smiled, his expression warm. "You're welcome. This is actually somehow less than the minimum of what we could—can do. There's some roadblocks between you and proper System integration, however. Just one more topic for the pile to talk about later, I suppose."
Blake looked around the room, his HUD highlighting various items and materials with an almost preternatural accuracy. "I think I'll take you up on that. But first, let's get this ship fixed. Or at least make some progress."
Eland nodded, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. "Agreed. Let's get to work."
They stepped out of the ship, the harsh light of the scrapyard assaulting Blake's eyes. He blinked, his HUD adjusting to the brightness. The landscape of twisted metal and discarded technology stretched out before them, a veritable maze of potential resources.
Blake's HUD flickered, highlighting a nearby pile of debris. He focused on it, and the text identified several components that could be useful for repairing the ship's communication systems. He pointed them out to Eland, who nodded in approval.
"Good eye," Eland said. "Let's start there."
They moved through the scrapyard, Blake's HUD guiding them to valuable parts amidst the chaos. The new macros worked seamlessly, identifying and categorizing items with remarkable efficiency. Blake marveled at the ease with which he could now navigate the complex landscape, each piece of debris revealing its secrets with a mere glance.
As they worked, Blake's mind wandered back to Eland's earlier mention of the [Identify] skill and the System. He couldn't shake the feeling that there was so much more to uncover, layers of complexity and meaning hidden beneath the surface of his new reality.
But for now, he focused on the task at hand. The ship needed repairs, and he was determined to see it through. The questions could wait. There would be time enough to explore the mysteries of the System and his place within it.
For now, survival was paramount. And more than that—finding something he could use to right his bunk to sleep more comfortably tonight.
Priorities.